


Hiding and hunting

by falseisthistale



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Nerdiness, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3079898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falseisthistale/pseuds/falseisthistale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solavellan’s first time, six days after the balcony kiss. Solas is hesitant, but his willpower only goes so far. [Contains cunnilingus + woman on top + really long descriptions of thought]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hiding and hunting

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, my Inquisitor is named Abelas. I named her like that before the game and I got too attached. YES I THOUGHT THAT MISSION WAS P FUNNY.

Abelas was surprised when he announced himself before entering her room. Solas had been missing for five days now, which was not so unusual, he did that, disappearing without warning or notice. One day he could be found at the fortress, usually in his office pouring over books or runes or even sleeping in various (sometimes hilarious) places; and another day he could not be found anywhere. Usually, however, he would not announce himself back. But what was even more unusual was Solas needing to come to her room at all.

He sensed her confusion and displayed his supposed reason for needing to be there: in his hands he held two books.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” She had meant it to be some playful tease, disguising the fact that this time she had been hurt by the absence, but Solas took it as an accusation.

“I have not. It is not the first time I have been gone like this.” Abelas walked to him and took the books from his hands, shooting at him a “ha-hum” of polite dismissal. “I was needed somewhere else. And the journey took me far, beyond my planning.” She ignored his excuses; maybe he was speaking the truth and it was all just a coincidence, a misunderstanding. But six days ago he had kissed her, not far from where she stood now, he had told her he loved her.  _My heart, he called me._  And now she couldn’t figure out if it was better that he needed to avoid her, or better if he hadn’t. “I do admit my timing could have been better.” Solas inclined his head slightly, searching any acknowledgment of her part, but she ignored that too. The books he had brought were very old, and Abelas recognized them as the tomes Josephine had acquired at his request. She had opened them once, in front of him, and her heart had ached: Language was consciousness, and these were the memories of her people who once were, denied to her. He had noticed, apparently, for this time in between their pages she found writing that did not belong there: Solas had written translations on separate sheets of paper, hundreds, she saw as she gave a quick peek. Sometimes the translations would cut off slightly, some entire sections were ignored, and it gave Abelas the impression of reading a censured book. She grew guilty of her suspicious of him, how she could still feel it even when she felt so thankful.

“It was not you.” Solas continued.  “If I’ve been avoiding anyone at all, then it would have been me.”

He was vague, but clear enough that she understood him. There was a meaning hiding behind all the layers; it was that way often with him. It was not the first time that he presented his dilemma thus:  _You want me, but you can’t want me. You are pressuring yourself not to, but you are unable to stop.  You come here because you wish for something more and in the same breath you beg me not to._

She drew closer to him, “You didn’t come here just to deliver some books.”

“Perhaps not. Yet it would be better if that’s all I end up doing.”

He  _wanted_ , Abelas could tell: Wanted this, wanted her. She could tell by how much aware of her body he was. He had reasons to deny himself this, she knew even not knowing what those were, and yet he would still come, he would still stay, always at the verge and not one step more ahead, always drinking in the presence of her, always on the precarious edge and unable to back down. Abelas imagined that if she were to refuse him, he would probably thank her for it. He had come to her before with requests, favors, when he found himself not enough and she hadn’t often denied him. Well, she would deny him this.

Their heads were close to each other, so much so they could feel each other’s breath, locked in the anticipation of a kiss. His face was following hers, mimicking her movements, and when he came even closer she retracted by a slight amount in one last indulgence in cruelty. She could feel his giving up coming by stages, degrees. His breathing became ragged, at first, with a hint of disbelief.  He was a giant, this man; someone who was used to giving as good as he got and having that be enough. So Abelas approached him slow, hunted him carefully: A hand across his cheek and another beneath his shirt, exploring his chest. Her lips closed on his, locked him in a kiss and at first Solas did not respond. There was an intention to not overplay, she was already huge, immense in her power over others, and over him; too much might have made him alert, like a player realizing he is being played, a predator being preyed, too much might have made him wake up. And then she felt the lightest of touches in her back and his hand was hovering over her skin, falling sometimes from trepidation, barely brushing, almost dream-like in nature. This was the tipping point, Abelas knew, a moment over the edge of no return. He could have still turned back then, the way he held on could have easily been transformed into a push back or a push forward. But then it was gone. She felt his tongue pushing in, searching, finally taking. His hands grasped at her skin, almost carved in their intensity. He started pushing her, forcing Abelas to back up towards her bed; his hands struggling with her clothes as he tried to divide attention between her lips and an increasing frustration at an also increasing lack of hand coordination. They both misjudged their timing, tripping over one another to fall squarely on the bed, he on top of her and half falling off of it, she beneath him with a knee that had surely hit him on his left cheek no matter how hard he was pretending it had not. They laughed together while she moved herself to the center, and he followed, finally having managed to remove her pants. And it was already fun, it was already good, it had already become something they wouldn’t back down from.

Solas must have known, even then, that this wouldn’t be the last time. Nothing is ever the last time when you walk into it as one last indulgence, one last slip before you finally go straight.

Abelas suppressed a laugh. It was sweet, really, perhaps a little naïve, how this man already so old still managed to be surprised by his body’s desire for seeking pleasure; still managed to get caught so unware by his own loss of control. It was something almost unknown to Abelas: she had always played both indulgent parent and spoiled child with her own body, she had rarely denied herself and in some ways it had made her stronger. Her will gave in so that it could control and pleasure did not overtake her, it came on her own terms.

But to Solas it came as a complete surrender.

There was no other way to read his hesitation, his undivided attention as he looked at her whole and in his reach with the quiet fever of devotion. He started by trailing the outlines of her body with the back of his fingers, much like a painter would sketch before creation, and she let him do it, let him adore her. Abelas missed being adored like this, outside of title and reputation, adored for being, adored for body and spirit, adored for Abelas, her. She had missed more being adored than adoring, and she knew that she would never get away again with calling him arrogant, self-centered; yet when Solas leaned in and kissed the very beginning of her neck, his tongue tasting her skin, she found it a price worth paying. He descended along her body, feeling and exploring as he went further and further, leaving behind a trail of kisses: her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach, her hips, the interior of her thigh, and  _oh, he adores me, he adores me._  

Abelas parted her legs and he looked at her for one last signal of confirmation.

She wondered if self-awareness had driven Solas to start out this way, down on her, out of her field of sight. “It’s been a long time”, he had told her after all, and she could tell. He began constrained, like someone trying hard to remember something they thought they had no longer needed. His movements were mechanical at first, focusing on cold anatomy, a common mistake of intellectuals. He was gentle, however, and recognized his own slowness and inhibition. He stayed on that beginning, didn’t try to rush ahead to an ending that would forever evade him due to senselessness and ignorance. So many men knew nothing of sexual pleasure that went beyond their own bodies. Abelas realized he was probably deeply aware, even perhaps afraid, of her pleasure, of her lack of pleasure, of not being enough. But then he eased into it, and his movements became more natural, instinct taking over at last. The tip of his tongue walked the length of her clit, ever teasing before giving. His fingers played with the skin of her legs, her hips, her stomach, almost tickling. It was interesting how Solas’ capacity for reading people translated into everything he could do: she could feel him responding to every movement she made, every tensing of muscles, every gasp and moan. He would test, experiment: his nails would tease at her labia, the blade of his tongue would move first slow then faster, trying for a rhythm. He was sharp, never losing pace, never failing to notice. Abelas found herself begrudgingly admiring him: hard to do some decent cold-reading with one’s head deep in someone’s cunt, but there were apparently no limits to his invention. “Oh… oh.” She grunted; he was good, “you a-are… ooooh,”  _surprisingly good_.

And in this surprise she trashed, her hands held on to the sheets in a helpless attempt to not lose her own footing, bit her lip until it drew a small bead of blood. Her face looked pale and as devoid of color as her skin had ever looked, intensity twisting it into something more out of stone than alive. Only her body was alight with movement: her feet barely knowing where to rest, her legs twitching as if in a nightmare, her arms glistening with sweat, her heartbeat audible even outside of herself. Once a wave of pleasure came to her with such violence that she jumped, half-rose from the bed; but Solas was quick, his whole attention had been focused on every small movement of hers, and he caught her by the disk of the hips, pinning her down in her place, refusing her movement. Abelas looked down at him, not being able to mask her surprise and was met with his eyes facing hers, challenging her, a victorious grin in his features. Oh, he was enjoying himself, her wandering explorer.

When he was done, Solas raised himself above her, one arm supporting his upper body, another wiping away at his mouth in a gesture that verged on provocation. He looked far too pleased with himself, and Abelas had in her mind to let him know, but when she opened her mouth he locked it with a kiss, perhaps already guessing her intention.  He moved to be over her, settling between her legs, one hand struggling to get out of his pants, and then a leg to kicking them out of the way. He was still kissing her when he entered her, thrusting into her very slowly at first, almost numbly, probably out of pain. Together they worked on meeting each other, knowing each other, a different sort of introduction than the one they had months ago now, naked and holding to one another. They struggled through it, grinding with need and some impatience, only to arrive in a mutual state of sexual shambles.

She had not come before though she had been close to it, she suspected that might have been his intention actually, and she would not come like this. They were desynchronized, she would meet his thrusts out-of-tempo and collapse, she frustrated with him and him probably with her. Abelas was willing to recognize some fault of her own: she knew what she wanted, she had been teased enough, and was trying to get it perhaps a little too quickly; Solas however wanted it done right. It was one of the things about him that she had expected to be carried into bed, engaging with him usually had to be done by his rules, in his grounds.  _Well_ , she thought,  _I’ve always enjoyed a good fight._

“No.” Abelas started, though perhaps out of distraction, he hadn’t listened. “No. No.” In between his thrusts, which were slowing down, “Not like this. Solas, I’m losing it.” She arched her back in some late attempt at stimulation, driving him further into her, getting a gasp out of him, “I’m losing it.” Solas slowed down, with some difficulty, she could tell. Obviously, he had not lost or was in the process of losing anything,  _the poor thing._ He stopped, changed tactics, adopted a different set of strokes, a different arrangement, and his hands settled on her hips, driving her into him, guiding her, teaching her. A new beginning that could have worked, would have, in another day. Abelas did not want this now, she wanted something else.

Abelas awaited for an opportunity, potential energy building inside of her, until she jerked, leaped, tearing him off of her. She rolled him to her side and then climbed onto him, straddling him, and he actually chuckled, disbelief and amusement sapping his will to fight back. Or he was too excited to care, it was not exactly a bad place to be: Abelas Lavellan above him, her hands running across his chest, her hair falling covering face, covering her breasts, covering him too when she leaned in for a kiss. She straightened herself and pushed herself onto him, moved with him inside of her, blissfully concentrated on feeling as her head curved back. For a while he didn’t know what to do with his hands, he was restless, ached by sensations, unable to think. Sex could be like that, mentally exertive. He felt at the contours of her ribs, rising up to her breasts, managed to grab one of her hands for a while, before she removed it to run her fingers through her hair at the height of her need. Eventually he settled on her hips, exerting some control over her, her speed and strength, shaping her into his wants as well. They eventually found their rhythm like they always did, even outside of this, outside of each other. Their words and thoughts always found a way to melt into one another until you couldn’t know what was hers and what was his; and this was dangerous, Abelas knew, it was too much to share with someone she could not trust, but it felt good, really good, because it felt less alone.

It was Abelas who came first, and she indulged, getting her pleasure done with to be able to focus on him; Solas came later, and she watched attentively, the way she reflected on him, the way she could affect him.  His eyes rolled to the side, and his mouth came wide open, and she knew where he was, the place from feeling too much to nothing at all, a dazzling white. He grunted something so illegible Abelas was sure it belonged to no language at all, and was just the result of having to make sound without his brain to guide him through it. It was then when she couldn’t hold it in anymore, and she laughed with wild abandonment, the kind of laugh that shook shoulders and forced one to bend over with the sheer power of it. He seized on this opportunity, grabbing her face with both of his hands and bringing her close for a kiss. “Vhenan”, he said once, twice and then thrice between kisses and laugher and happiness,  _happines_ s.

They stayed like that for a while, seconds stretching into minutes that neither counted, before time would ruin what time had wrought, before time could come with the excuses, the reasons why it should not have been. They stayed silent, holding onto each other and into the release of contentment, until Solas spoke again. “Well, then.“ he said, in such a business-like tone it contrasted with their current situation in an almost comical note, “About those books…” 


End file.
